The Djinni Inside
by Nemaides
Summary: Nathaniel is alive. Unfortunately, he's in a coma after breaking the Staff, and Bart is stuck inside his head. Bart isn't exactly the best person to act like an arrogant magician...and Natty boy doesn't seem to be waking up any time soon.
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place right at the ending of Ptolemy's Gate, where Nathaniel is dismissing Bart. Or, at least, he tries to…**

Nathaniel was tired. There was a fatal wound inflicted upon him, and his mind was getting foggier and foggier. He could barely concentrate on the lurking demon before him. The chattering spirit in his head wasn't doing any good, either.

That would be little me.

I floated around in his body, floundering through the fudge-like mess, impatiently waiting for him to complete the dismissal words. He muttered them, and then trailed off. Silence.

I coughed. _Ahem…is there something wrong? _

I felt him give a start. _Yes, right… _He began. And zoned out once again.

Nouda began slowly lumbering toward us. Nathaniel, in a sort of stupor, raised the Staff, pointed it at the demon, and burst out into an incantation.

_Um…I guess my dismissal is put on hold? Fine. I'll wait. Take your time, bud, take your time._

_ Bartimaeus. Please. _

_ Yes?_

_ Shut. Up._

He was demonstrating a rather impressive display of double tasking, reprimanding me within his mind while spouting magical gibberish.

And so, stuck on this grubby Earth as I was, I watched through Nathaniel's eyes as the Staff flared brightly. Nouda stopped, paused, his eyes squinting on Makepeace's flabby face. Then those eyes widened in terror, just as the Staff broke.

Blinding white light exploded from the two halves of splintered wood—Nathaniel, and I in his body, was tossed backward against a wall. His head cracked against the hard surface, ringing out through the chaos.

It was chaos, indeed.

Glass was falling everywhere, like snow, except it pricked at his—our—skin. Nouda was nowhere to be seen. He was dead, most likely.

And, as I saw the collapsing framework, the toppling dome above our heads—so were we, if we didn't make it out of here. Soon.

_Nathaniel. _

There was no answer.

_You awake?_

It was bone-chillingly quiet in his head.

_Look. Hooray, you killed Nouda. NOW WAKE UP._

For the third time, there was no response, so I grudgingly took the responsibility into my—his—hands. ((Damn, this was getting confusing. Let's just say it's my body for now, shall we? Our little secret.))

An iron bar whistled through the air, uncomfortably close to my head. I skidded to the side, leaped over the broken Staff, and dashed for the entrance. Pieces of tile and glass came cascading down—I waved my hand and shot them away with a gust of air.

We were almost to the door when the walls shuddered, swayed, and collapsed. For a few precious seconds I stood there in disappointed surprise ((Now not only did I have to prevent our deaths, I had to fight my way through several tons of rubble as well. The joys of being a djinni.)), and then I quickly hunched down and threw up a bubble-like Shield.

Ton upon ton of building material and slivers of glass pressed down on the protective dome. But it held, and that's what matters.

Now, on to busting my way out of here. My powers, though still quite awesome and…well, powerful, were somewhat depleted through my continuous service to Nathaniel. I'd have to find an easy way out.

I took the time to check back up on my master. He was quite obviously still alive—I could sense the lungs rasping in air, the heart still thumping, the brain, though sludge-like, directing the body and taking in orders. He was still hopping. But for how long? I had to get him to Kitty.

_Natty-boy. We're stuck. Have any brilliant ideas? Because _now would be the time.

Again, that depressing quiet.

I knelt down, the Shield wavering a few feet above me. The rubble blocked out most of the light, so it was black as pitch. I conjured up a small flame and left it crackling on my palm as I surveyed my minimal surroundings.

It was simple.

We were in a bubble, and trapped on all sides by a mound of rubble. ((I seriously didn't mean for that to rhyme. It just…happens. Call me brilliant, I won't mind.))

Now I just had to work out a plan.

If I were myself, I'd just turn into an ant and scuttle merrily on my way to freedom. However, this was not so—I was stuck in Nathaniel's lousy body. What to do in a situation such as this?

Simple. You sit on the ground, cross your legs, and wait impatiently for help to arrive.

And I did so.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Glass Palace, in PG, begins to burn after the explosion. It doesn't in this FanFic. And let's just say it wasn't quite that big of an explosion, shall we?**

The Amulet of Samarkand pressed solidly against the skin above Kitty's pounding heart as she walked quickly through the rubble. Glass crunched beneath her feet, and floated down to nest in her short hair. There was no doubt about it—the Glass Palace was completely, utterly demolished.

"Nathaniel?" She picked her way around a toppled staircase, hopped over a fallen popcorn stand. "Bartimaeus?"

Dirt rasped over the floor, flowing over her trainers, blowing from a fallen potted plant. It looked plaintively at her. Kitty hefted it up, her limbs trembling with exhaustion, and set the pot gently on top of the popcorn stand. She patted its leaves and, her stomach knotting, continued on.

Kitty slowly circled the staircase. All signs of Nathaniel had disappeared. What, had he been vaporized? Along with Nouda, then, because there was no sign of the demon, either…Perhaps they had perished together…

An iron scrap, situated perilously on top of a mound of rubble, wobbled and then skidded downward. Curiously, a few seconds later another one followed.

Kitty darted forward and held out her hand, just as another scrap fell and landed on her palm. She held it up to her eyes and then tossed it away.

What was going on…?

Without hesitation, Kitty heaved herself up, glass pricking her palms, her muscles burning, and clambered to the top of the pile.

Just as the pile shifted again, sending several more scraps tumbling to the ground. Kitty yelped, lost her balance, and followed the pieces of metal to the floor. The air whistled through her ears, and she landed painfully on the staircase, draped across the first step.

One second passed, and then two. Kitty rolled to her feet.

"Nathaniel?"

A laughing scrap of metal hit her in the face. Kitty cursed silently and slowly began scraping bits of glass from the top of the pile. How she got into these situations, she never knew.

The glass pricked painfully at her hands, so Kitty unzipped her jacket and wrapped it around her palms, like a pair of gigantic cloth cuffs. After a few minutes of strenuous work, she hit something hard.

Kitty leaned forward, looked in—and grinned.

It was a pulsing, shimmering Shield. She'd never been so glad to see one in her life.

It took a long while to clear away the rest of the rubble. But it was worth it. Inside, crouching low and moving the Shield from side-to-side, was a boy.

Kitty could hardly believe it.

The boy wiggled his fingers and pushed lightly on the bubble with a finger. It fractured, then disappeared without a sound. Nathaniel wobbled to his feet, looking slightly queasy, and stretched. "That took _forever._ But thanks, Kitty."

She moved forward and stopped a few paces away. "Are you all right?" He didn't look all right. With a flash, she remembered the wound, and Kitty darted forward. "Is it…? Does it hurt?"

"Ah…yes. Yes. _Yes, _Kitty, it _hurts_, so don't you think you'd better not prod it?"

Kitty withdrew her hand. There was something off about the magician's behavior. "Bartimaeus?"

"Little me."

"Where's Nathaniel? Why isn't he talking?"

"Erm, yes…about that…" The djinni tutted, hemmed-and-hawed, making odd gestures here and there before lapsing into a silence.

"I'm waiting…"

"The boy isn't talking, all right? It's quiet in here." He tapped his head, which was coated with a faint line of sweat, and his hair was dusted with bits of rubble and dust.

Kitty's stomach plummeted so fast she was surprised to see that she wasn't falling. An odd sense of panic overtook her, and she brushed it away. "What happened? Is there something wrong with him?"

"Well, it's _his _body, after all, even if we're sharing it…and we did get hit on the head by a wall. Did I mention we killed Nouda?"

Kitty shook her head wordlessly.

"Well, we killed Nouda. It was quite dramatic."

Kitty focused intently on the djinni. "You said Nathaniel got hit in the head?"

"Yes."

"And he's silent…there's probably something wrong with his brain." She began walking quickly to the entrance. "We've got to take him—you—to the hospital."

"And we're going to say what, exactly?" Bartimaeus put his hands on his hips. He was frowning. " 'Oh, this boy has a brain injury, come and see!' And the doctor will say, 'He doesn't look like he has a brain injury,' and you can say, 'that's because he has a djinni in his head, controlling him,' and everyone will think I'm one of the escaped riot djinn. Not a happy ending."

Kitty backed down, holding up her hands. "Okay, I suppose you're right. But we have to do something."

"Do you know anything about head injuries? Brain injuries? This is kind of urgent, because I can't be dismissed until he wakes up."

" I don't know much."

Silence fell upon them both. Kitty spoke first.

"You're in the body of John Mandrake, you realize that, Bartimaeus?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't forget a thing like _that…"_

"_The _John Mandrake, Head of Internal Affairs, famous in general, a public speaker, high up in the government. A politician." She raised an eyebrow. "You following me?"

"No…" Then Bartimaeus looked sick. "Oh…I see. Yeuchh. Really, is it necessary to…?"

"John Mandrake survived the riot, one of the few magicians to do so. He's vital in the rebuilding of London. It's necessary, all right."

The djinni crossed his arms. "I hate this."

"Sorry, Bartimaeus, but you need to. Until Nathaniel's back, you've got to play the part of John Mandrake."

00000000000000000000000000000

Nathaniel's house was destroyed. Completely, utterly destroyed.

The marble steps leading to the entrance were smashed and broken. The perfectly trimmed lawns and hedges were smoking and jagged. And the house itself had recently been on fire, so that it was blackened and charred, and close to caving in on itself.

Kitty and the young man stood side-by-side, staring up at the mess.

"I guess I can't stay here."

"No, you can't. You need somewhere else to stay, and you can't stay with me."

"Why not?" I crossed my arms. "It's not like I sleep, anyway. I can just roam the streets until morning."

"Do you think John Mandrake roams the streets in singed dress, his hair wild, all through the throes of night?"

"Not unless he'd been attacked by a horde of crazy ladies."

"Exactly. Remember, you've got to keep up the pretense."

I huffed, summoned up my last efforts. "I _can't _be Mandrake, Kitty."

"You have to try."

"Again, I can't stay with you because…?"

"John Mandrake, spending the night in the apartment of a woman? You don't think that would raise questions?" Her cheeks were slightly colored.

Ah. This was interesting…but to be pondered upon later. ((Too bad Nathaniel wasn't here to listen in. His thoughts…even I'd end up blushing. Adolescent humans, even ones that are nearly grown up—they're all the same.))

"Okay…so I'll just spend the night in the collapsing house." I raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

"_Bartimaeus._" She dragged me down the street.

"Commoners don't drag magicians…?" I interjected cheerfully. She grudgingly released my arm.

We headed down the block. A fire burned in the distance; smoke spiraled upward, pluming across the bright sky. Some houses were nothing but ash; others looked untouched, vividly bright against the ruin.

"Where are you taking me?" The dark-haired boy frowned. "If I hear the name _Farrar…"_

"…then we can both run in the opposite direction. No, you're staying here."

We had stopped outside of a stooped, two-story house painted a buttercup yellow. Weeds grew lazily from the lawn, and dandelions curled in the breeze as they sprouted from the cracked sidewalk.

"Here?" I surveyed it for a moment, and then the memory clicked into place. "Ah. Jakob Henryk's house."

"Yep."

"I kidnapped him."

"Yep."

"You expect me to stay here?"

"Yep."

The boy blinked and shook his head. "Kitty, are you serious? Nathaniel almost killed the Hyrneks' son. And, unfortunately, I'm stuck in his body…?"

"Just do it, Bartimaeus. Only for a few nights, while we figure things out. See if you can handle the role of the politician." Kitty looked at me pleadingly, and the young man threw up his hands.

"I already know the answer to that question: No."

"Come on." Kitty led the way up the porch and to the door. "Act like a better version of Nathaniel."

A better version of Nathaniel, eh? That could be done quite easily.

Kitty rapped smartly on the door. "It's Kitty!"

Evidence of the riot was blasted onto the worn wooden door through a large, black scorch mark. There were several more peppering the porch, and on the lawn there were forlorn, crisped patches where the grass had burned and died.

The door opened, drawing my attention again. A worn-looking woman, her hair drawn up, caught sight of Kitty and smiled in obvious relief. "Kitty! You're all right. We weren't sure, and when Jakob phoned earlier he was out of his mind with worry for all of us."

"Everyone's okay?" Kitty stepped into the larger woman's comforting embrace. She seemed to melt away into a younger version of herself, someone more vulnerable and innocent. Then, as Kitty loosened the hug, it was gone.

"Yes, we're all—" Mrs. Hyrnek caught sight of me, and stopped dead. Kitty pulled away and gestured at me awkwardly.

"Um…Mrs. Hyrnek, meet John Mandrake…"

"The official that kidnapped my son, was it?" she said coldly, all signs of warmth gone.

Kitty, from behind Mrs. Hyrnek, pointed at her lips and forced them up into a smile.

I followed her lead and pasted a smile ((though somewhat grimly)) onto my—his—face. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Hyrnek. I apologize for past misdeeds. It was the idiotic adolescent in me—now, it's almost as if _I'm a new person." _((I think it was rather suavely done, as back in the day my introductions began with a sword point, a battle cry, and then the roar of clashing steel was far too loud to make conversation.))

Kitty swung Mrs. Hyrnek around—the woman was scowling. "Mrs. Hyrnek, I can explain…"

"What is _he _doing here?" the woman hissed. I looked off into the Great Beyond and pretended my ears had miraculously lost their hearing. "A magician! And worse…he's the one that took my Jakob. Kitty, how are you affiliated with this man?"

A touch on my arm sent me spinning around—perhaps Faquarl had come back from the dead just to haunt me, I wouldn't put it past him, the devil—but no. It was a wrinkled old lady, scowling at me, and shaking her finger in my face. ((Looks like Nathaniel had affronted this old lady as _well_. No wonder he barely has any friends.))

"…no where else to stay," Kitty was saying. "Just for a while, Mrs. Hyrnek. I promise—and then we'll figure something else out." She looked at me meaningfully, and I nodded my head, trying to wrench my arm out of the old woman's grasp.

"Grandma, come inside." The woman brushed past me and took the old lady gently by the arm. As she swooped past again, Mrs. Hyrnek gave me an once-over look and then turned her back completely. Looks like it was a 'no.'

"You too, Mandrake," Mrs. Hyrnek called. "You're staying in Jakob's room."

I reluctantly followed her inside.

Once in the house, both Hyrnek women disappeared, ignoring me completely and showing their obvious disapproval of my presence.

Kitty trailed behind me as I climbed the stairs to Jakob's room. It, as in the room, was a musty-smelling thing, and the walls were painted a dreary gray. I sat on the bed.

"We'd better get this figured out soon." I snapped my fingers and played with the bits of fire dancing across my palm. Kitty watched me expressionlessly. "The Hyrneks definitely don't like Nathaniel."

"Who's Nathaniel?"

Kitty and I froze and then turned slowly to the door. Mrs. Hyrnek was standing in the doorway, a small bag in her hand. She looked back at us.

"Nobody," I cut in hastily. "I…ah…"

"You can keep your secrets, magician," the woman said. She crossed the room toward me and held out the bag. "I'd noticed you were hurt."

"Hurt?" Then I remembered the throbbing pain in my side. "Oh."

She knelt beside the bed and removed long strip of cloth, then wiped the wound clean and wound the strip tightly around it. "That should keep it."

"Thanks for doing this, Mrs. Hyrnek." Kitty spoke up from the corner. "We…" She darted a look at me, "…understand your complications."

"It's for you, Kitty, and you only," the woman replied bluntly, but as she left she looked toward me, and her eyes fell concernedly on the wrapped injury at my side.

I blasted the door firmly shut and turned to Kitty. "Where were we, again?"

"Talking about Nathaniel."

"Okay…so how do we wake him up? I don't want to walk around in him _forever."_

Kitty paced around the room. "I've been thinking."

"Brilliant."

"No, seriously, Bartimaeus—I picked up some stuff when I was working with Mr. Button. Books, old tomes, the like. Some of them were medical books."

"You remember something?"

"There was this one book. It was talking about…" She swallowed hard. "…Comas."

The young man winced. "You think that the old boy's in a coma?"

"Well, he's not reacting, and you're basically controlling everything—it would make sense. It's like he's in a deep, deep sleep, and he can't move his own limbs. There might be a flicker of consciousness in his mind, though. Can you dig in there?" she said hopefully.

"I can try. But there's no promises I'll find anything." I leaned back on the bed and closed my eyes, the pressure of Kitty's gaze boring into me. I tried to ignore it.

_Hey, Nathaniel…it's Bart._

There wasn't a flicker. Time to try a different tactic. I rubbed my proverbial hands together with glee.

_Guess what, Nathaniel: no? Not guessing? Okay, I'll tell you: Kitty likes you. Surprising, eh? _

There came the faintest stir.

_…_

_ So you're listening, are you? Prat. You won't respond to_ my _ calls, but one little bit about_ Kitty_ and you're raring to go?_

The stir roused itself a bit and I caught a gleam, the barest whiff of irritation.

I heaved out of the inner consciousness and opened my eyes. The bright lights shocked my eyes, so I closed them and reflexively flashed through the planes. Kitty's bright aura nearly blinded me again.

"Well, he's in there, you were right." I stretched. Kitty was listening eagerly. "A bit of chat and he kind of responded."

"He talked?"

"More like a stirring."

"Oh." Kitty deflated a bit. "I guess…at least he's still _there. _And many people take a long while to awaken from comas, very gradually until they wake up. A few wake up quicker than others."

"What about the rest?"

"Sometimes…they never wake up," Kitty said, very, very quietly.

If I were stuck in Nathaniel's knobby body forever…I would quite possibly go insane.


	3. Chapter 3

When Kitty came back to the Hyrneks' house the next morning, she was half expecting it to be in flames.

In reality, it was completely fine. Other than the scorched door, the building was unmarred. Peaceful. There wasn't a sound but the clatter of dishes and gurgle of running water from through the open kitchen window.

The dark-haired girl raised an eyebrow and ventured up the porch to knock on the door.

It swung open moments later.

"Kitty." Mr. Hyrnek smiled at her gently. "The bringer of unexpected guests."

The man had a jagged cut running down his cheek, which was red, puffy, and scabbed. His eyes were baggy and tired, and he was slumping wearily. Otherwise, he seemed quite unharmed. Kitty grinned back in relief.

Erm…I take it that there's been no trouble?" she asked hopefully. _If there has been, I'll slaughter Bartimaeus. _

"None at all. Mandrake seems very much reformed," Mr. Hyrnek replied with a yawn. He ran a hand through his hair. "The boy's in the kitchen. Grandma is piling him up to the neck with pancakes, so you'd best go save him." The man pulled on a cap, dropped a pair of keys into his breast pocket, and then strode out through the door. "I'm going to see what I can to do help with re-construction. See you around, Kitty."

"Bye, Mr. Hynrek." She closed the door gently behind him—and then skittered backward, leaping away from the hand that had touched her shoulder.

"You're jumpy today." Bartimaeus regarded her with a raised eyebrow. He was dressed in fresh clothes, though they were rather large on him and hung baggily. "Come to spirit me away at last?"

"It was only one night." She started off down the hall, toward the kitchen. "Anyway, you're leaving today, Bartimaeus."

"That's a relief. Did you know the grandma parades around at night in her underwear?"

"Okay, that's disgusting."

After a brief chat with the Hyrnek women, they were out of the house—though not without any delays. Mrs. Hyrnek, a true mother at heart, insisted on choking them with the grandma's chalk-like pancakes, and then she began re-bandaging the wound on Nathaniel's side another time. It was healing quickly, probably because of the help on Bartimaeus' part. Hopefully it would work on comas, as well.

The pair pounded down the sidewalk.

"What have you got in mind?" Bartimaeus kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

"We're going to get you some new clothes, since obviously those don't fit."

"Okay, and then…?"

"And I'm pretty certain you can't lead us in government, unless we want London to end up in flames…"

"I'll pretend I wasn't just insulted. Go on."

"We need to get you out of London, Bartimaeus. Somewhere you won't—we won't—be recognized, until Nathaniel wakes up. I've already got the paperwork sorted out. Most people agree this is a job worthy of your talents, though rather dangerous."

Bartimaeus screeched to a halt right under a draping willow tree. "Enough riddles. What, exactly, am I going to do?"

"How do you feel about going on a demon hunt?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The sun was setting in Prague. The sky was awash with streaks of pink and purple, and clouds bobbed lazily in the sky like sleepy ducks.

A lanky man walked down the street, his head hunched down, leafing through a report. Alongside him, the shops were closing, settling in for the night. Bicycles hurtled dangerously past, and he shook his head.

"Mr. Strouse." A baker dragged the last of his tables inside. "How are you?"

Mortimer Strouse beamed. "Fine, thank you. Well, good day."

"Good day."

Mortimer flicked to another page, looked up briefly, and turned into an alleyway between two large apartment buildings.

As he walked, he folded up the report. Those idiotic London magicians, always dabbling in things they shouldn't; now look what had happened, demons were roaming untethered throughout Europe. It was being kept a secret from most of the public, of course. God how much more chaos it would bring it they knew.

The government official sighed, turned to the right, and stifled a yawn—then he dropped his key in shock.

One of the windows of his house was smashed open.

"Harriet?" Mortimer called out anxiously. "Harriet!"

No answering call came from his wife, who should have gotten home from work earlier.

The official swiped his key off of the welcome mat and anxiously unlocked the door. He entered with more caution, clutching his briefcase like it was a weapon.

Perhaps it was the neighborhood boys again, playing ball where they shouldn't, he hoped.

The house was dark; a light beamed from the kitchen. The door latched with a faint click, and Mortimer winced at the sound.

Where was his wife?

"Harriet?"

There came a cry: "Mortimer!"

He threw his briefcase to one side and hurried down the hall, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He skidded into the kitchen…and was thrown back out. The man slammed into the wall and slumped to the floor, a limp rag doll. He wheezed a breath into his lungs and propped himself up gingerly. His eyes widened.

Towering over him was a tall, thin woman. Her face was all angles and creases, and her dark hair was graying. Her suit was weathered and in tatters.

It was the purple flames crackling around her fingertips that gave her away.

Mortimer sucked in a breath. "Demon!" He attempted to scrabble upward.

The woman pushed him firmly back down, and bent to smile at him. "So you know."

"I know that…but what…" Mortimer thought he might faint away. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied his wife, her blond hair frizzing around her peaky face, quietly grabbing a pitcher off of the counter. He jerked his gaze back to the frightening lady. "…What do you want?"

The woman patted his head, as if the trembling official were a silly dog. "For so long, my dear, so long we have been kept in slavery. And at last, we are free!" She suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and snarled, "Free to bring about our revenge. It is long overdue, my dear! Magicians, magicians, they are always keeping us in our chains. Revenge!" she shrieked again.

"I'm not a magician," Mortimer Strouse pleaded. "It's not me you want. Nor my wife."

"You work with magicians, dear. In the guhv-earn-meant. London would be better for revenge, but it is too dangerous. Many of my kind were already felled." The woman raised her hand. The purple flames sparked and rose higher.

The man closed his eyes, whipped up his arms defensively around his head; but nothing happened.

There was the sound of a thud, and then splintering china.

Mortimer opened his eyes and sat up in surprise.

The demon whipped around. Shattered china slung to its suit, ripping through the fabric. It was the remains of the pitcher.

The demon advanced on Harriet Strouse, its blue eyes flaring angrily. Purple streams of essence wove behind the pupils. "I was going to eat him first, my dear, but I've changed my mind. You're first." It lunged as quickly as a cobra.

The red-haired woman grabbed a wooden spoon and brought it down; the demon batted it lazily away.

"Don't even try."

Harriet threw another pitcher. The demon chuckled, stepped out of the way. The pitcher broke into a thousand pieces of broken china, splintering and scattering across the tile floor.

The demon drew itself up and took a step forward.

Mortimer Strouse rose up behind it.

The demon paused, swiveled, and lashed out at the man. Mortimer yelped and tumbled back, holding out a spatula like a weapon.

"You idiot! Be careful!" Harriet slid out of the way of grasping claws.

"I tire of this game, my dears." The demon clucked its tongue, and leaped forward at the woman. Harriet waited until the last second before throwing herself to the side.

The demon crashed headfirst into a cabinet. The wooden doors swung open and several stacks of wobbling plates crashed down onto her head.

The couple didn't stick around. They grabbed hands and ran outside, into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time we walked off the plane to Prague, I was itching in a thousand places and feeling chills in a million more ((some of these places were a rather uncomfortable area for an itch, too)). It probably had something to do with all the infernal iron around me. At least Nathaniel's body, however scrawny, provided a bit of protection.

Kitty had picked up on my discomfort.

"Calm down, we'll be out of here soon." She hefted up her duffel bag and started toward Customs. "I sure hope we got all traces of magic off you . . . Prague doesn't look kindly on magicians anymore, much less London ma—stop doing that!" Kitty smacked my hand away, grabbed my arm, and dragged me to the Customs line. "Honestly, it's like being with a child."

"Well, excuse _me—" _I was cut off short when Kitty spun on her heel, bent down, and whispered into my ear:

"Look to your right, behind that girl with the red sweater. Coming on fast."

I swiveled my head slowly and saw what she had—two burly men in security uniform, headed our way. "Maybe they just want to give us a warm Czech welcome."

"Ha." Kitty leaned forward onto her toes. "Okay, remember, you're not Bartimaeus, or John Mandrake, you're—"

"—William Tilton, a minor secretary. Hey, I'm six thousand years old and I've been through at least seven battles, I _know _deceit."

"I'm still Kitty Jones, a commoner. They've got to have no grudge against that."

"A secretary and a commoner, come to fight off the djinni plaguing Prague. _Such_ high hopes for Prague."

"And it's _djinn, _not djinni. There's more than one."

"William Tilton, secretary, commoner, djinn—got it."

"You'd better."

A hand suddenly clapped down on Kitty's shoulder, and we both jerked in surprise.

"What are your names?" It was one of the security guards, balding with a serious expression on his face.

"Kitty Jones and . . . ah . . . William Tilton, sir!" I chimed, straightening up leisurely.

"You two had best come with us."

The boy coughed. "Ahem . . . well, perhaps we'll pop in later . . . sirs . . . "

"You two had best come with us," they repeated forcefully. I glanced at Kitty and began hopefully raising my hand, upon which a tiny blue spark came to life.

Kitty shook her head slightly, glaring at me in warning. The dark-haired boy pouted, but his hand lowered.

"Oh, come on, Bar—William." Kitty marched past the two guards before swiveling back around and asking, not a trace of a blush on her face, "Where are we going?" The security guards merely shrugged.

We trailed after them, through the bustling airport. I noted several escaped routes and stored the information for later, just in case we needed to make a quick exit.

We entered an office. It was a cramped, gleaming place—everything was put meticulously away, either on shelves or in drawers. Certificates were framed and placed neatly on the wall, which was painted calming beige. Sunlight streamed in from a window, and despite myself, I felt myself relaxing—or, to put it more directly, there wasn't about to be a whirling rampage of attack. Conducted by me.

The security guards left, closing the door behind them, and I focused my attention on the wiry man sitting behind the desk. He had an unassuming nature, his features unmemorable. He was like that Mr. Hopkins. I pushed the unsavory memory out of my mind.

"What do you want with us?"

Trust Kitty to get right to the point.

"I'm Mortimer Strouse. You two are Kitty Jones and William Tilton?"

I shrugged grudgingly.

"A bit more clear?"

Kitty dipped her head in a quick nod.

Strouse waved his hand hospitably at the two chairs in front of his desk. "I'm sorry for the manner in which you've been brought here—you can never hire decent security guards these days." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, down to business."

"I suppose you know what we're here for," Kitty broke in.

"I do." He shuffled a few documents around on his desk and then cleared his throat, fixed us with a brown-eyed stare. "A few days ago, djinn were released accidentally by London magicians."

I broke in with a fit of coughing—_accidentally? —_but Kitty jabbed me irritably in the ribs and I swallowed my annoyance back down.

"Since then, they've been spreading across Europe at an alarming rate. There were, I believe," the man said, peering at a paper, "Around six djinn that escaped."

That many? I guess I was an underachiever after all.

"Two of them are in Prague." Strouse let the paper flutter out of his grasp. "There have been several incidents. My wife and I were among those attacked—they want revenge, you see, on magicians or those working with them . . . it was ghastly, a nightmare." He took a deep breath. "We need the demons stopped. And that's where you come in."

"Because, of course, you can't be bothered to get rid of them yourselves." Kitty's face was hard now.

"It's England's mess to clear up," Strouse added pointedly, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Not Prague's."

He seemed a bit wet to me, this secretary, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

"A secretary and a commoner," Strouse was now musing softly. "Are you sure you're capable of this job?"

"It's no problem, Mr. Strouse. We'll get it done." Kitty stood up, we all shook hands, and then we left the office.

Time to get cracking.

000000000000

She was a beautiful woman, with hair the color of autumn leaves and sparkling emerald eyes. Heads turned as she passed; she bore it with a kind of upright dignity, passing out slight smiles here and there. When she turned a corner, the smile faded. She walked faster.

This area of the city was a bit more run-down. Buildings formed narrow walls along the empty street, until it came to a small square. Constructions workers were busy here, slowly fixing the wall of a pink, rather twee, house that had been undergoing the job for over two years. Or so the locals said.

The woman was passing by the construction area when she picked up a slight whistling sound. Without a second thought, she threw herself forward, tumbling on the cobblestones. She landed on her stomach—

And the falling iron bar landed across her calves.

She hissed.

With a swift turn, the woman snatched the iron bar and threw it down the street. Her hand was held cradled against her chest.

"Lady! Are you all right?" One of the workers stood before her, sweating anxiously. "We're so sorry, so sorry—"

"I'm fine. It's all right." She began walking quickly again, examining her hand, limping slightly. The hand was bright red and burned like fire; she hissed in a breath and ducked into an alley doorway.

Once there, the woman sat on the curb and conducted a careful observation of her calves. They, too, were an inflamed red, and she bit back a gasp of pain. Humans could feel pain so _easily—_how could they manage without going insane?

Of course, it had been a while since she'd last had contact with humans. Perhaps they were already insane, she wouldn't know.

The last human she'd known . . . hadn't been so bad.

Now she was back on Earth.

The woman smiled dryly to herself, dusted off her clothing, and stood up.

Affa walked out of the alleyway and onto the streets of Prague.

**I realize this is kind of a filler chapter, but I'm going to be busy in the next few days and I wanted to put something up beforehand. This is the result. **

**Also, thanks to everyone to reviewed! We're past five reviews, yay!**


	5. Chapter 5

The boy wandered down the streets, his hands tucked neatly into deep pockets. It was sprinkling lightly, beads of sparkling water falling through a sunshine day. Cars sped past every so often, but otherwise the streets were quiet. The boy's feet sprang lightly over the slick cobblestones with an unearthly grace.

While Kitty was settling into the motel room and working out the fee, I had escaped to explore Prague as a tourist after several hundred years. Of course, I'd been here only a few years ago, with Nathaniel as my unfortunate companion.

I stopped to smile broadly into a reflecting glass window. Nathaniel's peaky face grinned back out at me. Now here we were again, only without his uppity demands and such. It was a nicer turn of events.

The boy glided past a few quaint shops and paused at the end of an alleyway to examine his surroundings. He turned around—

And nearly collided with a woman striding by.

She gave me an annoyed passing glance. I looked blandly back, and she turned swiftly on her heel to continue on down the street, her long red hair swaying.

In human terms she might have been considered beautiful; such things held nothing over me. Now, Nefertiti, _that _was a real stunner. You should have seen her in that blue headdress.

I lingered in a melancholy way over my thoughts of the open deserts, where pyramids seemed to touch the sky. ((These pyramids that, of course, yours truly had been forced to build. Which was probably why they were so splendid and awe-inspiring, even to this day.))

That girl's eyes . . . they'd had a familiar look in them. I pondered this thought as I made my way back to the motel. Could we have met before? Probably not, as Nathaniel would have been drooling all over her. That definitely would have left that memory in my mind.

Speaking of Nathaniel.

I perched on the ledge of the Charles Bridge and looked thoughtfully down at the glittering water below. It'd been at least a day since I'd tried to contact the old boy—or, at least, the amount of contact you can have when you're sharing a body.

_How's it going, Natty? _I grabbed a loose section of a brick and lobbed it into the water. It bobbed and then slowly sank into the murky depths. _It's Bartimaeus here. _

I held myself rigidly, straining to hear a response.

I felt a glimmer of consciousness. It was that kind of feeling one gets after a long nap and doesn't want to become awake just yet. Now, we can't have that, _can_ we? A certain djinni needs to be dismissed, and a certain magician needs to return in order to lord over his ruined capital city.

_It would be a good time to wake up, you know. _

His consciousness was yawning.

I felt a wave of irritation and resisted the urge to punch my own head. _Fine. Go back to sleep. As if I wouldn't _mind_ being stuck in your measly body for ages on end. _

A snore.

I was desperate now. I needed something, anything to keep him awake. What would do the trick? What did he—ah.

_Kitty has proclaimed her undying love for you. Oh, wait. She's proclaimed her undying love for _me, _actually, because you're currently in an out-of-body experience_. _Never mind. You can go back to your comatose state, and meanwhile the two of us will kissy-kiss-kiss—_

The blanket was flung away in a flash.

_Aaah, and there goes the stirring of those hormones. There's still the adolescent in you! _I let my—our—legs dangle freely over the rushing water. _Well, I'll think to you later, Nathaniel. I'm off to see the dear Kitty J—_

_Bartimaeus. _His voice came back, tired and weary.

I was ecstatic, to put it mildly. _Oh, good. You're back. Now we can be off to the more important matters, such as—I need to be dismissed. And London is a bit destroyed, so you'll have to fix that up. And I think Kitty's getting the feelings for you. And you need to stop several rogue djinn causing chaos throughout Europe. Sorry, am I overloading you? _

_What's . . . going . . . _He drifted off.

_Don't leave me now buddy. I've only just gotten you awake. Did you get the list of to-dos that I just told you? Because if you check, the first thing to be done is— _The dark-haired boy's eyes widened in alarm; he whirled around, his hands raised.

A forceful Detonation hit the bricks at his feet, sending the boy catapulting into the air. I whistled through the air wildly before bombing into the water below.

The other presence in my mind was panicked. _Bartimaeus . . . what's . . . going on? Can't . . . breathe . . . _

_Don't worry about it. I've got things under control. Just sit tight and relax. _I kicked through the murky water to the surface. I could feel the boy's urge to breathe, so I propelled us faster, bubbles streaming from our nostrils to the glittering blue of the water above.

We popped to the surface like a cork, bobbing up and down, Nathaniel's wet coat spreading around us like limp crows' wings. I scanned the area; my eyes fixed on a form floating mockingly above the bridge.

It was one of the rogue djinn. I was sure of it. Besides, who else could float in midair? ((Other than the fakirs of long ago India. I never discovered how they did it.))

A voice came sounding across the water.

I cupped a wet hand to my ear. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

Another garbled shout came forward.

I shook my head, slowly treading the water to keep us afloat. "Tch, tch. Don't you know to test-drive an item before you buy it? That body's rather faulty. Pity you can't shift into another one." I heaved a disappointed sigh.

The figure waved its arms angrily. A heartbeat later it was flying straight towards me.

Time to get out of here.

I could feel Nathaniel straining to look through our eyes again. _What . . . is that? _He thought blearily.

_That, my boy, is called a djinni. A very, very angry one._ I sucked in a breath for the boy's sake and ducked under the water, swimming quickly for the docks nearby.

_Why . . . are we . . . swimming away? You can . . . fight him off. Don't . . . retreat. _

_Firstly, Nat, it's called _advancing in another direction. _And next, I don't feel like engaging in an epic battle right now. Best to hide and live another day, eh? _I popped up under the slimy wood of the docks and felt my way along the bottom. Something slimy ran along the bottom of our foot and I swatted it away.

A little while later, the door of motel room number 57 opened and a slimy, bedraggled, soaked young man tripped into the room. Kitty, freshly showered, hopped out of a chair and helped him up.

"What's happened?" she asked in amusement.

The dark-haired boy spat out a clump of weeds and smiled at her with mud-stained teeth. "Kitty, I've got some good news."

"Good news?" The girl examined me with a look of disbelief. Our heart rate sped up ((involuntarily on my part, it was Nathaniel)). "What kind of good news? You look like you've been dragged through the sewer and then thrown out of a window. Several times."

"One of the rogue djinn blasted us into a river. And then Nat kept on trying to control our legs," I explained with a mournful sigh. "How many times did we crash, Nathaniel? Ten or twenty?"

_You weren't looking. There was a car coming, and you were going to cross the street. _Nathaniel sounded irritated.

_And then our legs started twitching uncontrollably and we collapsed into a muddy puddle. How _humiliating_. Look how far the mighty magician has fallen._

_I would have been able to control our legs if you hadn't fought back. Now, give me back my body. Right now._

_You really don't know. Do you?_

_I _do _know that you're not letting me control my own body. Stop fighting me, blast it! _Our legs began trembling again, and I lost my temper.

_I haven't been fighting back, you idiot! I've been trying to explain to you, but do you listen to me? No! You keep on inter—_

"Bartimaeus!" A hand snapped in front of my face, and I jerked back into reality, a scowl on my face. Kitty stood in front of me, her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised. She looked thunderous. "You can't say something like that and then zone out on me! What's going on?"

"Funny, that's what _he _kept on saying. This day is getting really repetitive. Not in a good way." I sloshed my way past her and flung myself into a chair, stifling my sudden outburst of temper. Kitty perched edgily on the bed.

"No more riddles," she said angrily.

"It wasn't a riddle, Kitty Jones." The dark haired boy put a wet chin on his muddy fist and examined the room. "Nathaniel's awake. I just had to go on and on about you in my mind, blah, blah, how you were in love with me"—she blanched—"and then he was there again. It was simple, really, I should have thought of it before.

"My, my, those drapes really _don't _go with the wallpaper. Czech sense of décor is always changing."

Kitty was impatient. "Let's get back to the point. I . . . what are you _doing_ with your mouth?"

My mouth was moving uncontrollably, looping from a smile at one end to a grimace at the other, and then twitching at the lips. "Hold on just a tick, Kitty."

_Oi. What're you _doing?

_Let me talk, Bartimaeus, _Nathaniel's voice cried out from within. _I need to find out what's going on._

_I've been trying to explain to you, but—_

_Quiet!_

_-You keep on interrupting me, just like that. _I resurfaced and tapped a finger against my temple, blocking out Nathaniel's infuriated yells. "_**He still doesn't understand**__."_

Kitty looked back at me blankly. "What?"

I'd been muddled up from my frequent conversations in my head. It was showing.

"Ah, that was Arabic, I think. I meant to say: Nathaniel doesn't get what's going on." My lips fluttered again, and I clamped them shut in annoyance. "He keeps on interrupting me, so you explain."

Kitty looked at me awkwardly. "Do I just talk or . . ."

"He can hear you, believe you me. He's in here but he just can't control his body. And he thinks it's _my _fault." There was an outbreak of infuriated chatter in my mind; I shoved Nathaniel's words away. If he would just _listen_ . . .

"All right then." Kitty leaned forward and looked into my—his—our—eyes. ((Ah, back to this again—and _no, _Nathaniel, I'm _not _going to start reminiscing about the past again, but if you don't want to hear it then stop reading my thoughts. Such bad manners, I ask you)).

"Nathaniel, back at the Glass Palace . . . the Staff broke, killed Nouda, and caused a large explosion. You hit your head and ultimately wound up . . . erm . . . in a coma . . . Is he reacting?" she asked me.

I was already busily blocking out Nathaniel's surprised outbursts again. "He's definitely reacting. Go on."

Kitty continued to quickly summarize recent events. Outside, the light sprinkling of rain was transforming into a lashing pelt of water. My mind wandered briefly, inexplicably, to the red-haired woman while at the same time thinking of our current mission ((And at the same time I calculated a mathematical formula, continued building a wall against Nathaniel's annoying consciousness, and mulled over the pros and cons of having hot pink curtains in a room with lavender wallpaper)).

_That red-haired woman. I know her. _Nathaniel's thoughts sheared through my wall abruptly.

_My wall!_

_It was merely a small obstacle. Easily overcome._

The other presence in Nathaniel's mind sniffed. _As easily overcome as your current state?_

_I know about comas; there's always the possibility that I'll die, but I can't let that happen, for several reasons. I know for certain I'll recover._

_What a pity._

_What?_

_London city. It's on your checklist of to-dos. Along with dismissing me, and fulfilling this mission. _I stood up and opened the dreaded curtains, fully revealing the quaint city outside. _You know the woman?_

_Yes. She's an assistant in Internal Affairs. She's beautiful, but silly and unintelligent. No ambition._

_Oooh, she has no _ambition. _How horrifying. _I opened the window to let in a little fresh air. Behind me, Kitty rummaged through her bag before finding a creamy-colored box of soap. Her footsteps padded toward the bathroom.

That ginger-haired woman I'd crashed into outside . . . why would an assistant in Internal Affairs from _London _be in Prague? Was she on a merry holiday, only two days after a grand-scale demon riot?

_Bartimaeus, do you know what I'm thinking?_

_It'd be hard not to, when we're sharing a head. You really think so?_

_It's the best explanation, unfortunately. _I could feel his attention perk up as Kitty exited the bathroom, smelling of honeysuckle soap, her hands free of mud.

_Focus, lover boy. She's not your type, anyway._

Our hands twitched and I forced them still. _Stop that, too. It's getting irritating. Now, do I have to be the mature one here, or are we going to get back to the job?_

_So you agree with me?_

_What, on your idea? _I examined the rain-slicked cobblestones below; several equally damp cars trundled past. People hurried by on the sidewalk, hidden beneath their brightly colored umbrellas. In the distance, the city stretched on, like a multi-colored slumbering giant. _I guess it makes sense._

_She's the one, then. A rogue djinni. We just have to find her—_

I knocked Nathaniel's voice aside. "Listen," I said aloud. "I thought I heard . . ."

The whooshing noise came again, and then another. I backed away slowly from the window, our bare feet sinking into the carpet. "If that's what I think it is—"

A final whoosh, and then a flying figure burst through the window and slammed into me.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Warm steam floating up from the basin of hot water soothed her as she worked, meticulously unwrapping the sheet of plastic from the bar of soap. The plastic crinkled, glinting in the light, before drifting down into the bin beside the sink.

Kitty tapped the bar of soap against the counter; pink flakes floated gently into the sink, where they swanned across the surface like tiny blossoms.

She hadn't really felt like herself these days; perhaps the action and terror of the riot had been a bit too fast-paced for her. Kitty snorted and rubbed the soap over her palms. There had once been a time when 'fast-paced' had been 'not-fast-enough.'

And then she'd had to come up with a plan to help _John Mandrake, _of all people. Going off on this forsaken mission. But John Mandrake was less-Mandrake now, and more Nathaniel.

It had been difficult, getting the djinni to come along.

Kitty turned up her lips in a wry smile as she soaped her hands, soaping and soaping and thinking.

At first, there had been a brief silence. There had been nothing but the sound of their footsteps, clicking against the brittle sidewalk, and the sashaying of leaves in sighing breezes.

"We don't have the Staff," Bartimaeus had said at last. "It broke. Didn't you see the pieces? And I have to say, Kitty, I'm tired." His face was turned thoughtfully toward the bright sun. "You wouldn't know how very tired."

"Centuries upon centuries, Bartimaeus," Kitty agreed quietly, "of your slavery. I know."

"You don't need to give me that hogwash that I can't act like him." Bartimaeus cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. "Miss Jones, I don't agree with your plans. As a magician, I am always right, and so you must comply with my every demand. Take your ideas and scuttle out of my sight. So?" he added as an afterthought, smirking. "Mandrake-enough?"

"Very."

"So why?"

She handed him a crisp piece of paper. "The rogue djinn are causing _chaos, _that's why."

"Good enough, I guess. Angry djinn tend to cause chaos."

"And I've got to ask you a question. We've managed to put names to all of the djinn that were summoned into human bodies. The highlighted ones are the djinn that are still out there. They're in alphabetical order. If you look at the A section, you'll see . . ."

Bartimaeus was silent for a moment; then he folded up the paper and shoved it back at her. His peaky face was frowning. Dark. "How did—"

"More importantly," Kitty interrupted, "_How _is he still alive? I thought you said he died."

"Well . . . ah . . . it's more of the _more widely known _ideas that he died?" Bartimaeus flashed her a cheesy smile.

"Seriously."

The dark-haired boy sighed and leaned against a tree. "I wasn't the only one to receive Ptolemy's gift, Kitty Jones.

"Affa was one of the first to be wounded; he was on the ground, in the dirt, and an afrit was about to stab him in the chest with an iron spear." Bartimaeus shoved his hands into his pockets and looked into the distance. "Teti fell. Vanished. Ptolemy cried out, turned, and saw another one of his djinn about to die. And . . . he did it. Dismissed Affa, right when the afrit drove the spear down, and it looked like Affa had been slain.

"Afterward, his name was taken off of the list. He was summoned no longer. He was forgotten. One of the lucky, lucky few. Until now."

"You helped keep that hidden," Kitty noted with surprise. "That's why you said he died?"

"I liked Affa. He deserved an eternal rest," Bartimaeus replied. "All of us do. Magicians don't care. You said he's on the list?" Bartimaeus said abruptly. "One of the djinn must have betrayed him."

"You saw it for yourself."

"Then I'm not going."

"I'd worded it wrong, all right?" Kitty cried, waving the paper in the air like a flag of surrender. "Not _demon hunt, _more like a track-demons-down-and-restrain-them thing."

"Not nearly as grand-sounding, though."

"No."

"So how do we _restrain _the—"

Kitty put up a hand. She reached into her pocket and pulled out—

"A soap box. Really? The mighty weapon?"

"It's what's inside the box," Kitty snapped back. She pulled it open.

"_Oh, _and there's _soap _inside the soap box! Brilliant!"

Kitty chucked the bar of soap at his head. Bartimaeus snatched up a hand and caught it quicker than the blink of an eye.

"_Not _the soap, either." She reached down to the very bottom and pulled the objects out, showed him. Bartimaeus shuddered and drew away.

"Nasty little things, but they'll work. And then?"

"And then we drag them, including Affa, back to London, lock 'em up, and force the remaining magicians to find a way to dismiss them without hurting their hosts."

"If Nathaniel wakes up, he can do it," Bartimaeus said with a raised eyebrow. "Is there another reason why you want to take this trip with me, Kitty Jones?" A batting of the eyelashes. "An adventure with your true love?"

She tried to sock the boy in the eye; Bartimaeus was too quick. He dodged, and she punched the tree instead with full force.

Kitty snapped back to the present and scrubbed ferociously at her fingernails, driving the last of the grime from out from underneath them, and then shut off the tap with a sharp clang of finality. With clean, wildflower-smelling hands, Kitty carefully picked up the soap box and glanced inside.

It was still in there. Good. It'd been a pain sneaking it through security, there had been a couple of close calls, but it would be worth it.

Leaving the bar of soap to harden on the counter, Kitty picked up the box and left the bathroom.

He-they-_dammit, who cares—_was standing at the window, talking quietly and looking out at the rain-washed street below. Still covered in filth. A definite sign that it was Bartimaeus in control.

As Kitty knelt down to place the box carefully under the bed, a faint noise caught her ear. She went completely still, listening, half-bent, her arm still reaching toward the floor. _What is that? _It was an odd sound, like something whistling through the air.

Realization struck her, and she whirled around. The open window.

The dark-haired boy was already pedaling backward, his eyes fixed on the window. His mouth opened to speak.

A figure whipped through the window astonishingly fast, and slammed into him as quick as a bullet. The boy had time only to look surprised; then he was hurled backward, crashing into the wall, sending fragments of the ceiling chipping down. Faint trails of blue essence escaped from the oddest sources: his ear, his open mouth, and the corners of his eyes.

The figure took a step back, its mouth set in a grim line. It turned to Kitty; eyes on the face of a beautiful woman met hers, its red hair cascading like a waterfall down its back.

Kitty was already moving, scrambling over the bed toward the far side of the room.

Behind the demon, because that was surely what it was, Bartimaeus cracked his neck and slowly stood up. "I have to say, that hurt." Then he bounded forward, blue fire crackling from his palms, and the woman turned to confront him.


	6. Chapter 6

**I thought it was about time we had something from Nathaniel's POV, so here we go . . .**

It was like a dream, being in a coma. He was a mere bystander, watching from the sidelines, with absolutely no control over the game. It was frustrating. No, wrong word. It was _infuriating._

Nathaniel watched an umbrella tumble down the street, its colorful fabric bulging outward against the wind, to eventually crash against a parked car. The owner ran after it, skidding through several puddles, narrowly avoiding a collision with a bicyclist.

_So you agree with me?_

_What, on your idea? I guess it makes sense. _That dreadfully familiar voice sounded in his mind; a voice that, no matter how he was trying, he couldn't block out.

Thus, Nathaniel had taken the Bartimaeus' idea and was slowly, but steadily, creating a mental wall between the two of them. A slight shove from his thoughts, and another imaginary block flew up.

_She's the one, then._ He slid another block onto the wall. _A rogue djinni. _

A feeling of mutual agreement expanded from Bartimaeus' consciousness, now that it had been said aloud. They'd found one, a rogue djinni.

Nathaniel forced another block onto the wall, and it was complete. He examined it with satisfaction. _We just have to find her. _There was a careful silence as the sentence hung in the still air. They briefly inspected the mental wall separating them.

A hard force slammed into it, and the wall shattered into bits of nothing.

Silent laughter sounded from the other end of his head, and Nathaniel's impulse to glare was dampened by that fact that . . . well . . . he _couldn't. _

There was a faint sound, like the hiss of an object through the air; Nathaniel, reacting, tried to glance in its direction. His eyes stayed firmly where they were, and as he raged, the other presence in his mind reared outward in an alert fashion.

_What? What is it? _His eyes flicked from the open window to the furniture around them.

"Listen." Nathaniel's mouth opened involuntarily, and the voice of the djinni spilled out. "If that's what I think it is—"

The sentence wasn't even finished. A figure with the force, it seemed, of a train, whipped through the window quicker than a thought. Pain blossomed in his chest as it barreled him backward, to crash limply against the wall.

_Ow. _Bartimaeus' voice seemed quite indifferent to their current situation, if a bit excited. _Well, guess what we have here? And we didn't even have to go looking for her. How convenient._

Nathaniel didn't reply, just watched, his heart pounding, as the figure turned. Upon closer look, it was a woman, with flashing green eyes and—

_Red hair. _

_Yes, what I was saying. _Bartimaeus propelled themselves forward, slowly, inching out of the hole they had made in the wall. _It's your dear Internal Affairs assistant. _

_Is she the one who catapulted us into the water? _Kitty was scrambling over the beds to the far wall; if he had control over his own body, Nathaniel was sure he would be biting his lip crimson.

_Nah. That one had gray hair. Old-ish. _They were standing up now, their feet planted firmly against the floor.

"I have to say, that hurt," Bartimaeus said loudly, tensing as the woman swiveled toward them, her hair flowing over a shoulder. His hand flew up in a flash, his palm facing outward toward her.

The assistant calmly ran her gaze over Nathaniel's peaky face, which Bartimaeus was keeping as still as stone. She raised her hand as well, and white fire danced around her fingertips. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she said at last, and her voice—

Nathaniel, alarmed, intently watched events unfold, because her voice . . . her voice wasn't as he had remembered. Patricia Morten's voice had been soft and meek, as easily trodden-over as melting butter. _This _voice . . . this voice was definitely not hers. It didn't even seem to be of her gender.

Bartimaeus appeared to have noticed this as well, because the green wisps of flame curling on their palm died briefly before sparking back to life. Their eyes flicked to Kitty, standing in a corner clutching, oddly, the soap box still, and back to Not-Patricia again.

"If you force my hand, however, I will kill you both," the melodious, male voice continued on. Patricia's eyes glinted with uncharacteristically bold will. "I have no apprehensions about this. You must leave me be."

Approaching quietly from behind her was Kitty, tipping the soap box over her hand. Something shiny, metallic, was spilling out into it . . . She spread it wide, and Nathaniel realized it was a giant, gauzy net, made out of . . .

A tingle ran through him. Bartimaeus' presence hissed slightly.

Silver.

Not-Patricia seemed to sense it too. She had spun around in a heartbeat, her hands thrown out, one directed toward Nathaniel and the other toward Kitty. Her green eyes lowered onto the net.

It was beautiful work of craftsmanship; the interlocking chains of silver could be coiled up into a ball small enough to fit, as could be seen, in a soap box. When needed, it could be unraveled in a heartbeat, to form a net that could encompass a large male lion.

The white flames on Not-Patricia's hand spiraled and flickered toward Kitty; the dark-haired girl watched the flames rise, and her widening eyes betrayed her resolute exterior. She raised the shimmering net against the whipping fire.

"Wait." Bartimaeus bellowed over the ensuing tension. He took long, casual steps toward Not-Patricia, and Nathaniel strained against each step.

_Bartimaeus!_

_Trust me, Natty boy, I know what I'm doing. _

_ You had better. _

The djinni was too distracted to make a snappy retort. He stopped inches away from the other demon's face, a small smile playing around his lips.

"Kitty, stop," he commanded; the girl, who had been raising the net again, lowered it and stared at him. Nathaniel felt his eyes move in her direction—a brief, wordless exchange passed between Bartimaeus and Kitty. Afterward, Kitty's face cleared and she looked back at Not-Patricia with fresh eyes. The net clinked as it touched the floor.

_What did you tell her? _Nathaniel demanded.

_I didn't say anything, did I? And then on to answer my own question: no, I didn't. Thus, the conclusion: I didn't 'tell' Kitty anything, and it's really none of your business if I had, anyway. _

Not-Patricia's eyes flickered between Kitty and Nathaniel with suspicion—she still had her hands raised. "Why must I wait?" she asked in that fluid voice of hers.

"I recognized your voice the moment I heard it. And you? Do you really not remember me, _Affa?" _Bartimaeus retorted.

**Reviews are very welcome! **


	7. Chapter 7

Affa studied the face of the man before him, running over the sharp features. Nothing stirred the recesses of his memory, so he cast a glance down toward the blue flame flickering at the man's palm. Blue flame. And that voice . . . it was familiar, but he couldn't put a name to it.

In frustration, Affa wrung his hands in the air. "I know your voice, but I don't recall the _name!_"

"Well, it _has _been two thousand years," the man said thoughtfully. "I suppose there is no offense to be made."

He'd been gone that long? What had been his last job? With that boy Ptolemy . . . two thousand years ago—

"Bartimaeus," Affa crowed. The white fire playing across his fingers died out, and behind him the dark-haired girl cautiously began folding the net, a small smile decorating her thin lips.

"The one and only." Bartimaeus cleared his throat and, now that it was clear that Affa was going to pose no threat, perched on the edge of a bed. "This is probably going to be a rather stupid question, but . . . are you all right?"

"A stupid question, yes." Affa agreed vehemently. "Some djinni seemingly thought I'd rather be here than the Other Place."

"That djinni thought that you'd like to join a riot in order to massacre hundreds of innocent people," the girl said warily.

"Once upon a time," Affa replied thoughtfully, "that would have been true." He darted a look at Bartimaeus, who was sprawled lazily on the bed, muttering to himself; at one point the boy's hands began to quiver outrageously, and Bartimaeus swiftly smacked them against the dresser. The quivering stopped abruptly. Affa glanced away, one fine eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I've learned differently."

"Why are you in Prague?" Bartimaeus was now stilling a trembling foot, but he was still able to look up curiously with those dark eyes of his.

"I'll tell you, and then you must tell me." The red-haired woman leaned against a dresser, her arms folded. "Firstly, I didn't agree with the circumstances of my summoning. Especially," Affa continued with a slight hiss, "because of the nature of my summoners."

"Quite the hypocrites, weren't they?" Bartimaeus snapped. "Djinn summoning djinn . . . it's not right."

"Especially into a human body. Sickening!"

"A double whammy," the dark-haired boy agreed.

"So what did you do?" The girl persisted. "You were in London, you had the chance to strike out at the magicians . . . but you didn't, did you?"

"It wouldn't be a heroic display of resistance against our slavery," Affa scoffed. "It would be a slaughter.

"Besides," he added, a faint grin appearing on his face, "I've never much liked the taste of human flesh anyway."

The girl turned green, and the two djinn began cackling with laughter.

"You left London during the riot, and made your way to Prague?"

The girl was persistent, Affa mused. He turned to her.

"Unintentionally. I liked it here, so I stayed. I thought I might have to stay here forever," Affa said darkly, "As the moment I had entered this weak woman's mind, it was crushed. Then I bumped into a man who appeared to be John Mandrake, and I thought he was here to do away with me." Affa smiled grimly. "I came here with all the intentions of murder if things didn't go my way. And now they've taken a whole new turn . . .

"Bartimaeus, your turn to tell. You've also forgotten to introduce me to your friend," he chided.

"Friend?" the boy repeated blankly.

"The girl?"

"Ah. _Her_."

"Yes, _her. _What is her name?"

"Can you two stop talking like I'm not in the room?" the girl suddenly burst out angrily. "Affa, I'm Kathleen Jones, but you can call me Kitty.

"Bartimaeus," she added pointedly, "I think you were going to tell Affa your story . . .?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was late at night. The moon cast a white sheen over the sleeping city, and in the sky bright stars twinkled merrily. A lazy cloud puffed over the Charles Bridge, and then slumped there to rest, hovering idly over the sparkling water.

Two slender figures shot past underneath the cloud, spinning gracefully through the air as calmly as though they were underwater.

A dark-haired boy floated down at the end of the bridge and balanced on the edge of the brick wall, white frost decorating his arms in several intricate patterns. His hair was tousled from the wind; his cheeks were a ruddy, flushed red from the cold; an alien light flashed in his eyes, like blue coals.

A woman sat cross-legged in the air beside him, her long red hair streaming down her back, emerald eyes flashing in the dark like a feline's. For a moment they merely watched the shifting waters, enjoying each other's peaceful company.

"This John Mandrake will dismiss me?"

"Him and a bunch of the other magicians." I looked out at the water, my fists bunched up under my chin as I leaned forward.

_Volunteering my services, Bartimaeus?_

_ Hey, it's for a good cause. _

There was no answer, but I could tell that Nathaniel didn't really mind. Looks like he really _was _good at heart. ((Here you can add in a) uncontrollable sobbing, b) heart-struck sniffles, or c) watery eyes and a flouncing hanky)).

"Bartimaeus."

"Hmmm?"

The woman was now seated next to me, her long legs dangling toward the water below. Her green eyes reflected the lapping waves, and one hand idly formed a tiny ball of air in her hand over and over again, allowing fire to lick at its edges before dousing it. "What happened to Ptolemy?"

"He died," I said bluntly.

"_Really?" _Affa replied sarcastically. He tossed an air ball into the sky, the flames flickering around its edges, before it imploded and created a tiny firework in midair. "A better answer, if you would."

I told him.

"It makes sense that I wouldn't be the only one to receive Ptolemy's gift," Affa conceded. He smiled wryly. "You were always his favorite, anyway."

"Oh, really."

"Yes. _Who _did he give a whole week of time-off to, again? Who did he choose as his bodyguard against those mountain assassins?"

"Maybe it's because I didn't take the form of a naked lady every time we came in contact."

"Wait—how did you—that was only in the _beginning," _the woman said sourly.

"The boy didn't even blink an eye, though, did he?"

"No."

"Yeah, I'd tried it, too." I leaned against a raised portion of the brick wall and closed my eyes. "Kids these days."

We might have stayed there for hours, or only one; I wasn't sure, I only knew that I had been resting in a spot of deep calm, the closest a spirit can come to sleeping, when a sharp movement from Affa jolted my eyes open.

He was standing up, looking closely at something farther along the bridge. Squinting, peering, brushing back locks of long red hair; but to no avail, and Affa cursed in despair. "These useless human eyes! How do they _manage?"_

I leaped up beside him, squinted. There was a figure standing at the edge of the bridge, watching us, eerily, and it sent prickles up my neck. "Shall we go take a look?"

I didn't even have to ask.

We advanced slowly down the bridge; the shape was now dancing wildly, throwing its arms in the air and laughing loudly with glee.

_It's probably just a drunk, _Nathaniel said in disgust. _Go back, Bartimaeus._

_ No, _I thought back quietly, _I think it's something else._

_ Not . . .?_

_ It could be._

_ We don't have the silver net._

_ We have Affa and brute strength. It's called the old-fashioned way, before all of your fancy-schmancy magician stuff. _

A searing heat; thinking quickly, I threw myself to the ground, somersaulting along the bridge before popping back up to my feet.

The Inferno screamed along the bridge before hitting one of the walls, sending the bricks exploding into the water below.

"Definitely a rogue djinni," I said under my breath. Affa had dodged to the opposite wall. We cast each other quick glances, and then made our way to the figure, not bothering to keep quiet anymore. It knew we were here, we knew it was there.

Affa and I leaped forward as one, racing agilely toward the djinni at the other end. It cackled, bounded along, and disappeared into the maze of the houses ahead.

Without a second thought, we plunged forward after it.

**Aaand, if you would review, that would be great! **


	8. Chapter 8

Affa and I pounded down the bridge. On the other side, the djinni screamed with laughter, did a mad twirl, and then spun away. Silver hair flashed under a streetlight as it sprang down the pavement.

"Remember, no serious harm," I said with a mournful sigh. "Got it?"

"Yes." The woman vaulted over the bridge wall after it, pushing off the side with one foot. She tucked into a ball and rolled as she hit the shore, red hair flying. Affa popped lightly back up and ran.

Back on the bridge, a certain dark-haired boy was bounding along the same wall, his lanky legs moving faster than they had ever been. With a leap, he sprang over the wall as well, but landed with much less grace.

I spat out a clot of mud and rolled to my feet, springing quickly out of the riverbank. _Thanks a lot, Nathaniel._

_ My apologies for panicking over the fact that we just jumped off of a _bridge, Nathaniel muttered back.

_Let me run this body for the time being, all right? No more going 'caphut' into riverbanks. _We were now flying through the air, our dark hair blown back by the wind. Affa could no longer be seen; presumably he was already ahead, chasing the djinni through the shadows of Prague.

I landed on a rooftop with the same tuck-and-roll, then hopped to my feet and climbed swiftly up a nearby chimney. We'd fallen quite a bit behind, and to make up for it I'd need to first find Affa and the djinni.

I balanced on the top of the chimney, calmly surveying the whole city. It was a mass of glittering lights and empty streets, with everyone tucked in their beds while outside djinn chased each other across rain-washed cobblestones.

So . . . where were those two?

The answer to my question came quickly. Several streets down, behind a row of red-roofed buildings, a bright white light flashed and died, followed quickly by a larger orange explosion that licked at the sky.

The dark-haired boy leaped across the narrow street to the building across, bounding across roofs and somersaulting over alleyways like some crazy attempt at parkour.

((_Parkour:_ a fast-moving sport that combines gymnastics and acrobatics. It sometimes involves high buildings and running from rooftop to rooftop. A regular occurrence for spirits like me; some bold humans try it as well)).

Another bright flash, and it was closer this time.

The dark-haired boy paused at the edge of a tall building, glancing back and forth, his thin chest sucking in deep breaths. There weren't any buildings close enough to jump to. Just to make sure, I looked again, from side-to-side. Then I glanced down.

Nathaniel quailed. _Please tell me that you're not going to . . . _

The boy stepped casually off of the edge and plummeted serenely through the air. ((At least, I appeared serene on the outside. On the inside, Nathaniel's faint screams of terror gave me quite the headache. Why didn't he _trust _me not to let us go splat on the sidewalk—Nathaniel, back off, these are my thoughts—wait, _what? _I'm not distracted, the ground is—)).

I caught myself at the last second, just to give the old boy a little scare, and lowered our feet gently to the pavement. The boy cleared his throat, cracked his neck, and stepped out into the light.

Just then, a Squall hit us firmly in the chest, and we were blasted into the brick wall behind us.

Choking dust surrounded me like London fog. The boy coughed, brushed away a lock of hair, and was beginning to clamber back out when a face suddenly appeared, leering.

It was a woman wearing a tattered suit. Her hair was a light gray, her face thin and severe. One hand was raised, pointing directly at me.

I was faster.

Quick as a whip, the boy dove to the side and slammed the silver-haired woman with a good hard Detonation. Several more bricks crumbled down, conking the boy well on the head, which gave me reason to worry about the real owner of this body.

_Hey, Nat. All right in there? _

_ Perfectly fine, if you'll only get me out of this alive, _Nathaniel replied wryly.

I advanced out of the hole, clothes covered in a powdery white dust. Affa, with red hair that was singed at the edges, swooped down from above and perched on the edge of a bench. After a brief pause, in which we both examined the body sprawled across the middle of the road, Affa and I cautiously began moving forward.

"I thought you said no physical harm?" Affa mused lightly, his eyes never straying from the silver-haired woman. Her hand twitched and Affa stilled, both of us watching for signs of movement, before moving on again.

"No _serious _harm," I corrected. "It was just a Squall. Did you see me take one earlier? Now, this djinni must be a real pussy—"

Another twitch. We froze again.

"Let's get him and banter later," Affa decided swiftly, his fingers flicking to and fro.

We began moving quickly, each firmly grabbing an arm.

That was when the djinni decided to perk up. Lucky us.

The djinni's arms flexed, hands clawed, and he flailed in our arms.

Affa and I hung on stoutly and dragged him on, moving his hands occasionally to send a sturdy Detonation or whirling Inferno into the pavement. Curses were uttered, though I won't repeat them here for the sake of your young little ears ((and before I hear the cries of outrage, _yes _you humans are young. All of you, even the oldies. Compared to me, at least. And those curses were really vile, anyway. Even Affa winced, and before he went peaceable he was quite the vulgar fellow)).

"So," I said conversationally. "Sorry for the lack of introductions."

The djinni gritted his/her teeth and scowled. A brief image of the past Nathaniel flashed into my mind, and I allowed myself a small smirk.

"I'm Bartimaeus, the Serpent of the Silver Plumes, N'Gorso the Mighty, I've spoken with Solomon—"

"—_I've _spoken with Ghengis Khan," Affa cut in. "It's Affa, by the way, because once Bartimaeus gets on his rant you can never stop him."

"Ghengis Khan?" I snorted. "So have I. Before I poisoned him."

Before we could hit our usual bragging banter, Affa turned his head to look at the silver-haired woman, who was wearing a rather grumpy expression. "And you are?"

"Why should I tell you?" the djinni grumped, and then another explosion of foul language occurred.

"Are you quite finished?" Affa asked irritably afterward, picking bits of brick out of his hair. We were stumping over the Charles Bridge again, and the exploded wall had begun to cave into the river. I picked up a fallen brick and tossed it up and down.

The dark-haired boy smiled menacingly. "Is he finished? Oh, _yes_, yes he _is_."

The captive djinni blanched.

A short while later, the djinni was only slightly less irritating but he'd clammed up on the swearing. As we dragged him on, the moonlight framing our shadows against the street, I asked:

"Name?"

"Ketzal, eighth-level djinni," he grumbled. "Lemme go, won't you?"

"Well, soon you'll be back in the Other Place," Affa said in that melodic voice of his, "and we'll 'let you go' there."

"The Other Place?" Ketzal mourned. "Grand, grand place, only you go there and then you're summoned again and _again. _My essence is just 'bout dissembling."

"Dissipating?" I corrected wearily.

"Whatever. The thing is," Ketzal rambled on ((looks like he was a real chatty djinni once you kicked the swearing out of him . . . which looked to make up around forty percent of his vocabulary)), "magicians are the reason, you know?"

"We know," I muttered. "Now—"

"So, it's like, now I get to take my revenge, only there's you two acting all _angelic._ You simpering do-gooders, with your little goody-goody two shoes. I betcha can't _wait _to be summoned! 'Cause you're oh-so perfectly content to be slaves, _well_ then! You traitors—"

He would have ranted on and on, perhaps, if Affa had not lost his temper.

The red-haired woman had gritted her teeth harder and harder as the rant progressed; now she snapped. Affa grabbed the silver-haired woman by the collar, leaned back, and booted Ketzal halfway down the street. He slammed hard into the wall of a shop, orange sparks flickering.

"What happened to _no physical harm?" _I said hypocritically; Affa just glowered, his usual calm expression wiped away.

"He's lucky I didn't Detonate him right then and there," the red-haired woman said sourly. A short second later and Affa began to look concerned as we scrambled over to Ketzal ((See? Peaceable but violent. You've got to love the combination)). "Do you think I hurt the host?"

"Between my Squall and that kick, probably a bit."

Ketzal had popped to his feet by now, preparing to flee, but we surrounded him in a blinking. He glanced at the sky, about to fly off, but Affa lit a warning flame on his palm.

"You fly and you'll be on fire, too," Affa said in a bit of a snarl. Looks like he was still angry. Grudges always died hard with that bud, anyway ((I learned that the hard way)).

Ketzal sighed as if in resignation. He held out his arms to Affa. "Go on then, take me away," he cried dramatically, the silver sheen of his hair glimmering faintly in the moonlight. A nearby streetlight cast our shadows eerily into the corners, and Affa's began to shift as he moved forward, reaching out to grab one of Ketzal's arms.

But I had two thousand years of experience on Affa, and I could sense a trick when I saw one.

As Affa grabbed an arm, Ketzal pushed off of the wall with a foot, exploding outward. The red-haired woman lost her grasp, tumbled backward into the ground, and urgently flipped back to her feet.

No worries, though.

I had slowly moved back as Affa had gone forward. As Ketzal flew straight out, parallel to the ground, I had leaped in midair and tackled the djinni to the dust.

I pinned Ketzal down and applauded myself. "Well done, Bartimaeus, well done. Why, thank you, self, it _was _a rather excellent maneuver, wasn't it?"

Affa merely chuckled in relief.

By the time we made it back to the motel, there had been three more attempts to flee and another scuffle in an alleyway, where Affa walked out with a bruise to the chin and Ketzal had a black eye ((again, this "no physical harm" business was difficult. Especially since human bodies are so easily injured)).

_Not a bad day's work, _I complimented myself.

Nathaniel grudgingly agreed. _We still have . . . what . . . four to go?_

_ Maybe more, maybe less. Anyway, when this job is over you can dismiss me and I'll be on my way._

_ I could dismiss you now, _Nathaniel offered half-heartedly.

I hesitated. Lugged Ketzal along. Thought. Dismissal now . . . would mean instant return to the Other Place, with its soothing touch to my essence . . . but on the other hand . . . _Nah, it's all right._

A glow of relief from the other end of this mind, and Nathaniel was saying, _Thank you, Bartimaeus. _

My consciousness huffed and drew itself upright. _Hey, I wasn't doing it just for you, bud. I've got to stay and make sure the djinn are dismissed properly, especially Affa, and that his name stays off the list. _

_ I would've done that. _Nathaniel seemed a bit uncomfortable. _I'm not the person I was before, Bartimaeus._

_ I know._

We arrived at the motel. There was a bit of difficulty in deciding how, exactly, to get the djinni to motel room number 57 without causing alarm to the other occupants and staff as we dragged a middle-aged woman inside. Affa came up with the solution.

Thus, that was how we came to be grunting and slowly hefting Ketzal through the air, hovering from window to window and looking for 57.

"We're peepers," I said with a low chuckle, flying slowly upward past a closed window with a drawn curtain. It had green curtains . . . no, we needed to look for hot pink . . .

"Hot pink, you said, Bartimaeus?" Affa was leaning to the side, his head tilted in a way that reminded me faintly of Ptolemy.

"Yep. Found it?"

"Yes."

We struggled upward, bearing Ketzal's weight, and I rapped on the window.

Kitty Jones was lying curled on a bed, a book lying in her hand, the lamp still turned on. She was fast asleep; as she jerked upward, rubbing her eyes groggily, the book fell out of her hand and landed on the floor with an inaudible thump.

Nathaniel's heart gave a little leap, and I soothed it back to its normal pace.

_Calm down, Nat. It's just . . . oooh, it's just your true love. _

Nathaniel seemed to work for an answer, then give up. I laughed quietly to myself.

Kitty was now busily glancing around. I rapped on the window again. She turned her head, caught sight of us, and toppled off of the bed in surprise, tangling up in the blankets.

When her head finally popped up, she calmed down enough to open the window and let us in.

Affa slithered in first, hauling Ketzal in too. I hopped in last, rubbing my aching arms and pulling the window shut along with me.

"Sorry if we scared you, Kitty Jones," I said, rummaging under the bed. "Where'd you put the soap box, by the way?"

She tossed it to me, still blearily blinking away her sleep. "You found one. Wow."

"His name is Ketzal and he likes to curse," Affa informed her, sitting on the edge of the desk and swinging his long legs.

Ketzal was fuming, standing in the center of the room, glaring. "You better let me go, or I'm going to—"

"Get trapped in a silver net?" I suggested, tossing it over him. My hands burned, and I hissed softly, glad to be rid of it.

The net drifted down, pinning his arms to his sides. Ketzal squirmed, yelped, and toppled to the floor, wincing.

"It'll hurt for a bit," Kitty said apologetically, prodding the djinni with her toe. "But it's a light kind of silver, and there's salve rubbed onto the chains, so after a while you'll just feel rather numb."

The dark-haired girl yawned, picked up her book, and crawled into bed. She turned off the light. "Put him in the bathroom, Bartimaeus. It's freaky with him in the room."

"Many apologies, missy," Ketzal was muttering under his breath. I hoisted him over my shoulder and dumped him unceremoniously into the bathtub.


	9. Chapter 9

_London city was burning._

_Kitty Jones watched the flames crackle and leap from building to building, igniting even brick houses like they were the driest of tinder. Off in the distance came screams; Kitty turned and ran._

_Standing in her path was a redheaded woman, smiling serenely. White flame flickered around her, and it pooled at her feet like a curling ribbon. She held out the Amulet of Samarkand. "I promise I'll come back, Kitty."_

_There was a rush in the air, and Kitty was thrown off her feet as a loud explosion sounded—she skidded on her back, and as she stood she noticed that the Amulet now hung gracefully from her neck. _

"_Ptolemy gave me a gift," a voice said sadly, and she turned to see an Egyptian boy standing quietly before her. "I loved him. Who do _you_ love, Kitty Jones?"_

_Behind the boy, a dark-haired man and a plump man—Makepeace—squabbled, whirling, leaping, and wresting one another to the ground. The Staff appeared in one of the raven man's hands. In the other were gauzy silver nets. Makepeace laughed madly and rose to meet him, and as Kitty screamed, the dark-haired man—John Mandrake—no, Nathaniel—disappeared behind a curtain of hissing fire._

_She stood stock-still and stared and_

Kitty opened her eyes blearily, tearing apart a layer of film that had gathered over her eyes as she slept, and stared dully at the ceiling. The lavender paint was beginning to peel, and a curl of it floated down to perch gently on her nose. As she swatted it off, one hand reached instinctively toward the Amulet of Samarkand, hidden from view behind her pajama shirt. Kitty traced the outline of the jade stone before forcing herself out of bed. A freezing shower would snap her awake like nothing else. And after a dream like that? She'd need it.

Kitty glanced toward the balcony; two people were situated there. One was perched on the rim, legs dangling perilously over a two-story drop, red hair swaying mesmerizingly in the wind. The other, a young man with dark hair, was slouched comfortably in a chair, eyes unblinking as he stared at the sky.

As she walked groggily past the window, they turned as one. Bartimaeus cocked his head and gave a little wave, and his female-formed partner smiled faintly. Then they both continued chatting calmly, even as Affa balanced on the rim and strolled back and forth like a tightrope walker.

Kitty's eyes lingered on the back of the young man's head before she staggered sleepily away. Her dream was still circling, and Kitty wanted to knock it out of her head _without _the use of physical violence. That cold shower would have to do. Kitty stumped into the bathroom and cried out in surprise.

"Hey, missy, you gonna wash?" The djinni, wrapped in a cocoon of silver, cracked a smile. "The tub's occupied."

Kitty glowered back and yanked the curtains across the bathtub, shielding the gray-haired woman from view. _"Bartimaeus! _You put him in the _tub?" _

"Love you, too." The djinni muttered sourly.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The world outside was gray, dewy, and wet from yesterday's rain. Puddles created obstacles across the pavement, and passing cars caused waves that snapped at Kitty's ankles as she veered around a large pool of muddy brown water.

"Oops—sorry, got your feet wet there. Oh, and _again_."

Another faint splash sounded behind her as Bartimaeus let Ketzal slide out of his grasp and land ankle-deep in a puddle.

"Not very fair when you're the one holding him, is it?" They stopped at a streetlight, and Kitty gratefully let her duffel down to rest on her feet.

Bartimaeus scoffed. "Affa's letting him slip as well."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Why don't you lemme go now, and I'll promise not to kill you later?" Ketzal said loudly over the two bickering djinn, smiling crookedly at Kitty. "A girl with a beautiful head like yours'll understand, right? You getting me?"

She glanced around and found a suitable puddle. "I'm going to be a hypocrite now and tell you to dunk him in there, Bartimaeus."

"With pleasure." Bartimaeus let Ketzal drop.

A few blocks later and they were at a small park. Kitty crossed a green lawn, skirting several children with bright kites, and rapped on the door of a black car waiting at the end of the road.

Ketzal struggled fiercely even through his bonds, ramming his head into Affa's stomach until the redheaded woman wheezed and rammed him fiercely back. Bartimaeus grappled with the fighting djinni and pinned him to the muddy grass.

As the djinn wrestled Ketzal into the car, Kitty leaned through the passenger window.

It was Johann Drake, a commoner now rising high amongst the leagues of magicians, and allegedly now dating Piper. His chiseled jaw and windswept hair had caused many a girl to swoon; Kitty was disappointed to find herself just the same. She slapped herself mentally round the head and kept things brisk and official.

"Caught him yesterday, an eighth-level djinni named Ketzal." She gestured to the djinni. He was now slumped in the backseat, looking sullen.

"And the other one? There were two, weren't there, Kathleen Jones?" Drake popped a stick of watermelon gum into his mouth and chewed loudly.

"It's Kitty," she replied through gritted teeth. "We've been through this . . . what . . . ten times already?"

"Sorry, Kathleen." Drake grinned, and Kitty resisted the urge to retch as the strong scent of watermelon invaded her nostrils. "The other djinni? Caught him yet?"

Outside, the djinn were carefully listening in.

"Affa, seventh-level djinni, we found him," Kitty said at last. Drake smacked on his gum.

"And then you lost him, Kathleen? If you need help, we could call in some reinforcements." Drake looked earnestly at her, and Kitty coughed uncomfortably as she glanced away from those beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that one could easily get lost in, which she didn't want to do.

"We don't need help. He's already here."

Drake leaped up, smacking his head on the roof of the car. "_Ow—_Kathleen, what the heck? Free?"

He stumbled out of the car, spitting his gum onto the road, and Kitty took a step back, glancing down the street. Affa and Bartimaeus had disappeared.

"Erm . . . turns out he's not here, actually," she said hastily. Drake, at his full height, towered over her, and Kitty reached to about his shoulder. "But it's nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Drake bent down so they were eye-to-eye; they spent a few moments glowering at each other. "Kathleen Jones, you have some explaining to do."

By the time she was done, Drake was still shaking his head. "It's not going to work. Djinn can't be trusted, and I know you think differently, and I'm sorry, Kathleen."

"He's helping us. He helped capture Ketzal," Kitty said stubbornly.

Drake ran a hand through his gleaming hair and sighed. "Whatever, Kathleen. Do what you want, but don't get killed, all right? There aren't enough pretty girls in the world."

"Save it for Piper, Drake."

Drake flashed a smile and handed Kitty a paper. "Your new objective. We've dug up some pictures and names of the human hosts that are rogue, and places they've been spotted. It should help."

Kitty examined the papers. The first had a picture of a middle-aged man, balding with a giddy expression on his face. Name: Percy Combe. Estimated Location: San Francisco, California.

"_California?" _

"You didn't expect them to stay in Europe, did you?" Drake was heading back to the car. "You've got a big job in your pretty little hands, Kathleen. Good luck. That John Mandrake of yours should be a bit of help, too." He winked, and then the black car drove off.

"He's taking Ketzal back to London?" Up in a tree, a redheaded woman daringly swung by one foot from a slender limb. "That's part of the plan, isn't it, Kitty Jones?"

"Yes." Kitty folded the papers and tucked them away before facing Affa. There was a rustle in the bushes, and then Bartimaeus strolled out casually, licking his lips.

"Prague's got beetle-imps, too." The dark-haired boy grinned. "Delicious." Then he glanced around, eyes flicking unconcernedly to the woman dangling perilously from a tree. "So where are we headed . . . _Kathleen_?"

"Don't you start."

"Couldn't resist. Sorry. So?"

"Next stop, San Francisco, California." Kitty put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at Affa. The woman sighed and eventually floated to the ground.

"California? Goody. America with its plains and happy buffalo."

"What?"

"Ah, just an old reference." Bartimaeus grinned. "Eh, Nathaniel?"

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